Chapter 14 #3
I dragged a hand through my wet hair, my pulse picking up. “I don’t—” It wasn’t as though I was bothered by him making a move. I just didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. “I don’t do anything complicated.”
For a year after Rowan left for the Air Force, I didn’t touch anyone else. I’d tried a couple of times. Went out with a few guys, but it never got past a kiss. The second it started feeling like it could turn into something real, I shut it down.
It wasn’t their fault. It was all on me.
I didn’t trust people anymore, or maybe I didn’t trust myself not to end up right back in that same place where my whole life revolved around someone, only to get left behind in the end.
Eventually, I figured out how to remove that concern.
If I focused on the physical and kept things simple with no expectations, I could get off, then move on.
It worked most of the time.
He smiled. “Does this look complicated to you?”
Maybe I was the one complicating things.
He was good-looking, shared an interest in fighting, and if I wanted to walk away after tomorrow, I could. Besides, fights left me too wound up to just go home and sleep, and sex was a great way to take the edge off.
So instead of ignoring the spark between us, I twisted my hand in the front of his shirt and pulled him close. His breath hitched slightly. Then his mouth was on mine.
I hadn’t been alone in my bed when I’d fallen asleep, but I was now. I pushed up on my elbows and saw Devon standing near the small table by the window, one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee, the other braced against the wall as he looked out at the parking lot.
“Morning,” he said, glancing my way.
“Morning,” I returned. “What time is it?”
“Just after nine.”
Dragging a hand over my face, I groaned under my breath and sat up fully. My whole body ached, partly from the fight and partly from what had happened in the room last night. “I ran down to the café and got you a coffee.” He pointed to the cup on the table.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and got up. “Thanks.”
“Are you heading back home today?”
“Yeah.” I took a sip of the coffee. It was strong and exactly what I needed. “Got a shift later.”
“But you’re going to check out the first fight, still, right?” he asked.
“That's why I stayed.”
An hour later, we were inside the venue, and the atmosphere felt more like the jiu-jitsu tournament I’d seen than the underground fighting I participated in. This event had rules, official weigh-ins, and coaches in the corners instead of chaos and money being thrown around.
The fights were different too. Everyone’s movements were more controlled.
They took their time trying to find an advantage or opening rather than just going in and beating the hell out of each other.
I found myself sitting on the edge of my seat, locked in on what was happening inside the cage.
Devon said something beside me. I think he was explaining a transition, but I barely caught his words. My focus stayed on the fighters.
After a couple of matches, he introduced me to some people he knew.
I wasn’t sure if he’d told them he was trying to recruit me, but they all spoke about him like he was someone I should listen to.
I could feel their enthusiasm for the sport, and it stirred something inside me.
For a second, I could picture what it might look like if I did things the right way. If I trained and went legit.
Then reality crept back in.
Training took time. And time spent doing something I didn’t get income from meant less money in my pocket. If I ever wanted to stop couch surfing, I couldn’t afford to cut back on my work hours.
I drove back to Sacramento later that day, and I made it just in time for my shift at Sal’s.
I slipped right back into my same routine, but something felt off. Like I’d caught a glimpse of something better, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Devon texted me three days later:
You got any plans tonight?
I stared at the message for a moment before replying:
Just work until ten
Want to hang out?
That was how our relationship started.
I could have said no and kept my distance. I could have ignored his messages. But I didn’t.
One night turned into another. Then another.
We didn’t put a label on it. We didn’t talk about what we were doing, but we began spending a lot of time together. He’d come to my local fights or show up after I got off work, and more times than not, we ended up at his place—usually in his bed.
After several weeks, tonight was no different.
“You’re wasting time,” he said from where he sat across from me on his couch.
“With what?”
“Underground fighting.” He scoffed, as if it should have been obvious what he was talking about. “You’re better than that.”
I leaned back against the cushion. “We’ve been over this. Going legit won’t pay the bills.”
“It could.”
I gave him a look. “Not right away.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it could turn into something that does eventually.”
“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Train and build up from there. You can keep your job at Sal’s.”
I shook my head. “That’s not exactly a stable plan.”
“Neither is what you’re doing now. Besides, I can hook you up with a room in a house I own.”
He had a point. Nothing was guaranteed when I relied on illegal activity to make money.
Over the next few days, I took time to really think about what Devon had been saying. It wasn’t as if my current path was leading me anywhere. Maybe I did need to take a risk to find success.
A week later, I showed up at Titan Elite. Devon spotted me the moment I walked in.
“Changed your mind?” he asked, a broad grin spreading across his face.
I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Something like that.”
He nodded. “It’s not going to be easy. You’ll have to unlearn a lot of bad habits.”
“I figured.”
“And you’re starting at the bottom.”
“I figured that too.” Then I added, “I can’t afford a place right now.”
“My offer for a room at my rental property is still good.”
“Training here and living in a place you own might not be the best idea.” I may not have had much experience with whatever Devon and I were doing, but I knew enough to see how things could get messy.
As the new guy at the gym, I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to think I didn’t belong there or that I was getting special treatment.
“For what reason?”
“You know why.” He didn’t need me to spell it out for him.
A beat passed.
“Then we keep it separate,” he relented.
“Strictly professional,” I clarified.
Even if we kept things a secret, I didn’t think it would work out well.
He let out a breath. “If that’s what you want.”
“It has to be.”